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Covered in Crimson	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13989 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe and I make no money from this work of fanfiction. The plot, however, is mine.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Previously�.

His mission accomplished, Draco turned back to face Hermione, hands on his hips and gaze slightly challenging. �You know, you said earlier that you knew something about how we got here, but you haven�t told me much yet. Ready to talk?�

�Well, Malfoy, if my memory is correct, and I�m pretty sure it is, we got here by portkey, and I can�t be completely certain, but I think it was your mother who activated it.�

Draco was doing an amazing imitation of a goldfish out of water, sucking mightily for oxygen that would just not be found. �That�s not possible Granger. My mother died two years ago.�
They stared at each other for a moment, both confident in their assertions, both stunned at the possibility that the other professed. They couldn�t both be right; surely the other was mistaken. But who, which was the reality? Who had been interred in the Malfoy crypt? Who had activated the magical device that had sent them swirling away from the horrible on-going raid that claimed lives and spilled blood?

Draco had attended a memorial service and watched his father mourn the loss of his beloved. The Manor had been draped in black bunting for weeks after. True, he�d not seen his mother�s body, but his father�s grief had been so real, so palpable. He�d been away from home for many weeks, as far as he could recall. Now, however, he knew that he could not trust his memory or his perception of time. In any case, he�d not been in Wiltshire when he�d received the news; he thought he�d been on another series of raids to root out Mudbloods from the hiding places that had been established by sympathizers. He was to come home; his mother was gone.

He recalled being too stunned to ask questions about how it had happened. He recalled thinking that it didn�t really matter; she was gone and nothing would change that. If she�d been killed by one of Dumbledore�s minions, well, they�d get theirs in the long run anyway. He didn�t want to know. It would be too distracting to try to track down one culprit; he�d just continue to target the whole lot. If she�d died from some ailment or malady, there was nothing to be done about it. Regardless of the means of her passing, she was gone, and Draco didn�t want to know anything more.

But now, Granger seemed so certain that she�d seen Narcissa Malfoy just two days earlier. How was that possible? It just couldn�t be so. All of this flitted through Draco�s consciousness in a split second. He needed more information. Just to be sure.

�What makes you think that you saw my mother? Are you sure you would know her on sight?� Draco pressed.

�Quite certain. I�ve met your mother half a dozen times, at least. She is a very distinctive person. I could never forget her,� Hermione asserted.

�What makes her so memorable to you? And why would you have met her so many times?� Draco was confused now. Why would this light side soldier have had contact with the wife of one of the Dark Lord�s most trusted supporters? This made no sense at all.

�You may find this hard to believe, but I met her at your aunt�s house.�

�That�s impossible. If you�d been to Bella�s house, you�d have never left alive,� Draco jeered.

�I didn�t say it was Bella�s house. You have another aunt, you know,� she prodded him.

�I do?� Draco looked confused and bewildered.

�You do. She�s your mother�s middle sister. Her name is Andromeda, and she married a Muggle-born wizard a little more than twenty-five years ago. She and your mother were estranged for many years, but that has obviously changed in the last few years.�

�I had no idea. Honestly. I don�t think I�ve ever heard so much as her name before this minute.�

�Well, that�s not entirely surprising. The Black family disowned her, and she was magically removed from all family records, according to your mother. The only way you�d have heard about her was if one of her blood relatives, namely your mother or your other aunt, said something about her. It�s clear that they didn�t. But their reasons for keeping silent, particularly over the last couple of years, are probably polar opposites.�

�It sounds like you know a lot more about my family than I do, at least on the Black side. How is that?� Draco prompted.

�Your Aunt Andromeda, or Andy, is the mother of Nymphadora Tonks, an Auror whom I know well, and who is married to Remus Lupin, our former DADA professor. And as I said, I�ve met your mother at least a half a dozen times. It�s been awhile, but we�ve spoken once or twice. The last time I saw her, before this week, was about seven months ago,� Hermione informed him.

Draco dropped heavily into the easy chair that he�d moved near the fireplace, uncertain that his legs would continue to support him. �I don�t understand. Why would she want us to think she was dead? Does my father know? Where is she now?� Draco�s voice sounded small and confused, his jaw slack with the shock he�d absorbed.

�I wish I could answer your questions, Draco, but I just don�t know. When I saw her, she did ask me to keep confidence about her location, but she didn�t say anything at all about your father, or about people thinking her to be dead. I just assumed that she didn�t want to endanger her relationship with her sister. She asked me one time if I had seen you in the last couple of years, and I told her truthfully that we�d not met face to face since the second time you tried to kill me, more than three years ago � not long after we left Hogwarts in the middle of sixth year. She didn�t seem terribly surprised.�

�About what � that we hadn�t seen each other or that I�d tried to kill you twice?�

�Well, both, I guess. We didn�t have an extended discussion about it. I was just passing through with Tonks on our way to a meeting, and your mother was having tea with Andy.�

�Could it be that your father wanted you to believe she was dead?� Hermione wondered.

�I can�t imagine why. What would he have to gain by me thinking my mother was dead? That doesn�t make any sense.� Draco shook his head, displaying his internal refusal to believe something so odd, so impossible.

�The only other explanation I can think of is that she wanted him to believe she had died. Can you think of any reason she might want that?�

�Not to my knowledge. I know that she was not as avid a supporter of the Dark Lord as my father and �� he hesitated, unable or unwilling to voice aloud that he was one of them.

�Draco, I know you�re a Death Eater, so don�t be disingenuous,� she interjected.

�But that�s the thing, Granger, I know what I am, but I don�t know why,� his voice trailed off into a mere whisper.

�Maybe your mother had more influence than you�ve been willing or able to admit, Draco.�

�But there�s so much blood on my hands. Why have I killed so many people, Granger? Why did I try to kill you? When I think about it, the truth is that I really don�t know you well enough to like you or hate you, so why should I care to see you dead? Just because your blood is different from mine? It makes no sense to me.� Draco seemed to be begging for an answer, his brow wrinkled in confusion. A dull ache began to build behind his eyes, and he feared that another blinding headache might be his price for thinking, for questioning what he�d been doing for so many years.

�I can�t answer any of those questions either, Draco. But isn�t that the crux of the issue with this war we�re fighting? Isn�t that why Voldemort is trying to exterminate me and my kind � our different blood?�

�I suppose you�re right. It just feels like my thoughts aren�t my own. I know that doesn�t make a lot of sense, but my brain feels� foreign.� He looked into her eyes for the first time in several minutes, and saw his own perplexity reflected there. Something was definitely amiss somewhere, but the source and result weren�t making connections.

�The more I think about it, the more I think you�ve been controlled by someone or something for a very long time, Draco. There�s been an influence over you, and for some reason, you�re breaking away from it in the last couple of days. Something had to trigger a change, on both ends of the equation. We need to try to figure out where and when it began, and what has changed in the last two days to minimize those effects.�

�You�re probably right, based on what we discussed earlier with my memory issues. But I want to know more about why you think it was my mother that sent us here. That might even help us get to the other concern. Exactly what do you remember about that?�

Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself. This would not be easy to say. She stared at her folded hands and told him what he needed to hear. �You and seven other Death Eaters raided a meeting of Order operatives and killed four of our group outright. There was a short battle, and your team prevailed. The remaining group of six was captured, stripped of our wands, and transported to a dungeon that had several cells with stone walls and iron bars. I can�t be sure, but I suspect we were at Malfoy Manor. We were held there for about two days and interrogated about Order activities. We were served only moldy bread and water by a couple of women who hid their identities with hooded cloaks drawn over their faces. You finally got around to questioning me and I refused to answer you. I�ve learned pretty well over the years to resist Imperius, and you apparently didn�t have Veritaserum. You got really angry that I was refusing to cooperate, so you decided to �teach me a lesson� to quote you directly. You used evanesco to vanish my clothes and tore your own clothing off. You beat me and raped me. You had, uh, finished and rolled off of me when I saw your mother enter the dungeon. That�s one of the reasons I thought we might be at the Manor, and that maybe she was one of the women who had given us our meager meals. I was drifting in and out of consciousness by then, but I remember hearing her gasp. She was holding a black cloak. The last thing I remember is that she tossed the cloak over you, and part of it must have been touching me as well. I don�t know if that was her intention or accidental. I heard her say �Portus� and that�s the last thing I remember before waking up here.�

Draco listened to Hermione�s account as dispassionately as he could. It was not easy to hear that he�d behaved little better than a beast, and that his mother had somehow been witness to it. The prospect that his mother had seen him in the act of literally trying to fuck this woman to death made him want to crawl into the woods and die. He thought he might vomit. In fact, he was sure of it. He dashed from his chair to the small bathroom and made it to the toilet just in time. He retched repeatedly until there was nothing left.

Hermione didn�t move from her spot on the sofa, wouldn�t have even if she�d been able. She could hear the sickening sounds that emanated from the bathroom; she knew how raw his throat must feel. But not nearly as raw as his heart.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was several minutes before Hermione heard the sound of running water. From the way it echoed, she guessed that he�d turned on the shower. Merlin, but that had to be cold, she thought. The pragmatic side of her wondered if they might try again to get the furnace going. There might be a simple explanation for why it didn�t start up earlier. She�d have to think about that. Only a few moments later, the water stopped flowing and she heard Draco moving around in the bedroom. When he emerged about ten minutes later, his hair was still damp and he�d draped a towel around his shoulders.

He sat on the easy chair once again, eyes trained on the space between his feet, which were planted firmly on the worn wooden floor. His jaw worked back and forth, as though he was contemplating whether to allow a few words to escape. Hermione broke the silence before he could decide.

�Are you okay?� The compassion in her question made him hate himself that much more.

With a wry grin, he glanced at her for a fraction of a second. �I�ll be fine. Thanks for asking.�

She nodded in acknowledgement, then both fell silent again for long minutes.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft and soothing. She didn�t want him to think she was patronizing him, but somehow, she thought he needed to hear what she was feeling. �I can only imagine what you�re thinking. I won�t pretend to understand. But I�ll guess that in the long run, it�s a good thing. It shows that there�s something in you that feels regret or at least confusion about what you�ve being doing with your life. That�s a man your mother could be proud of.�

Draco shook his head slowly, shame still evident in the pained expression on his face. He hid his eyes behind open palms and scrubbed away tears that he�d been surprised to shed. �Yeah, right,� he scoffed, barely above a whisper. He tossed the towel that had rested around his neck onto the arm of the chair, his movements sharp with disgust. �I�m a despicable excuse for a human being, and she must abhor what I�ve become. I almost hope she is dead so that she doesn�t have to see what a failure I am as a person. I hate me quite a lot right now.�

He rose quickly and went to the cottage�s front door, reaching for the cloak that he�d laid across the end of the sofa along his route. �I need to be alone for a few minutes. I�ll be back,� he promised, his back turned to the woman he�d nearly killed.

While she sat quietly on the sofa, contemplating their discussion, Draco stomped into the snow that blanketed the ground. It had developed an icy crust, and it crunched as he made his path away from the small dwelling. It was still very cold, and the gusty wind reddened his cheeks and nose almost instantly. Without gloves, his hands would chap next, and he thrust them angrily into the pockets of his cloak. The property was surrounded by heavy forestation, but he did see a marked path leading away from the building. It was overgrown with brush, but discernable. He didn�t relish the idea of getting lost in the forest, and he did want to get back to Granger � she would need his help. That may be the first time in years that I�ve thought of someone else�s needs before my own, he mused, and set along his way.

Humiliation, anger, confusion, and sadness fought for control in Draco�s heart. His mother had seen what he had done to Granger. Knowing how his mother felt about violence against women, Draco was stunned that she hadn�t hexed his balls off then and there. He remembered vividly a conversation they�d had many years ago. He�d only been about eight years old and had witnessed a man treating a woman roughly while they�d been strolling at the park. His mother had told him that no matter what, it was utterly wrong for a man to hurt a woman, and that the incident they�d seen was a disgrace to all gentlemen. He�d taken it very seriously then. As far as he knew, his father, as angry as he�d been with his wife at times, had never raised a hand to her. Draco felt certain that she�d have left him if he�d done it even once. How had he unlearned those fundamental lessons? Who or what had undone the values his mother had instilled in him? Why?

Where was his mother now? Why had she let people believe she�d died? Just whom should he be angry with? Did his father have a hand in this? Had they really been at the Manor, and had she been there concealing her true identity from him? How and why was she in contact with a formerly estranged sister � an aunt about whom he�d known nothing? The questions kept coming and there were no answers to be had.

He managed to trudge his way through about a half kilometer of icy, overgrown pathway, and was rapidly tiring. It wasn�t easy to walk through such deep pilings of snow and dead foliage. The pain was welcome; he felt it was deserved. What he felt in his aching legs was dwarfed by the constriction in his chest. If he weren�t so young, he�d have suspected heart failure. Maybe that wasn�t so far-fetched. It was a failure of his heart, but of a different kind. The tears he�d held at bay since leaving the house returned with a vengeance, growing rapidly into sobs that wracked his ribs. On one level, he felt foolish. He hadn�t wept so much since he was a toddler. On another, this release was cathartic, cleansing. What was causing his emotions to be so turbulent and profound? Was this guilt for his misdeeds? Remorse for his unspeakable crimes? Why now, after all this time?

Drying his tears and wiping his nose with the sleeve of his cloak as he�d never even done as a small child � Merlin forbid a Malfoy without a proper handkerchief � he straightened and took in his surroundings, noticing that the forest hadn�t given way to clearing and appeared to go on for quite a distance. He saw no other homesteads and heard only the occasional chirp of a hearty winter bird and the rustle of small rodents in the underbrush. He stopped to rest on a toppled tree trunk, brushing the snow away with the hem of his cloak. Wherever they were, the landscape was deserted and devoid of signs of civilization. A perfect refuge, he thought. Or hideout. Or safe-house. �Oh, shit,� he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

As fast as his aching legs and frozen feet would allow, he trudged back along the way he�d come, intent on making it back to the little cottage. He approached the porch and hefted three of the larger logs stacked against the exterior wall to ensure they�d have enough firewood for the rest of the night. Twisting the doorknob while trying to balance the wood, he had to resort to pushing the door open with his foot to prevent dropping the heavy, awkward load onto the floor, or worse, his feet. �Granger, I�ve had an idea � and we need to talk about it,� he announced. To an empty room.

His heart pounded in his throat as he took in the vacant space. The blankets she�d had draped over her legs were on the floor, but nothing else seemed out of place. Draco dropped the logs beside the hearth and glanced through to the kitchen. There was no sign of her. �Granger!� he called, but received no response. Seconds later he heard a rustling of fabric, coming from the direction of the bedroom in which they�d slept last night. He darted there and flung the door open to find Hermione, snuggling into the stack of blankets and linens. He released his pent-up breath and felt relief wash over him.

�What the hell are you doing in here?� he challenged.

�Uh, resting?� she replied hoarsely, roused from her nap unexpectedly.

�How did you get here? You couldn�t even stand on your own an hour ago!� he accused.

�I crawled.�

�You what?!�

�Crawled. I had to go, you hadn�t come back yet, and I didn�t know how much longer you�d be. So I rolled off the sofa and crawled to the bathroom. I didn�t think I was quite strong enough to make it all the way back, so I decided to rest here for a while,� she explained, keeping her tone carefully neutral. No use in getting him any more upset than he already was, she thought.

�You scared the shit out of me, Granger! I thought someone had kidnapped you or something. Don�t do that again!� He sat heavily on the side of the bed, facing away from her momentarily.

She couldn�t help but snigger, it was all so incongruous. �You tried to kill me two days ago, Malfoy, and now you�re worried about me? That�s rich.�

�Well excuse me if I�ve had an attack of conscience,� he sniffed. �We both know something� odd is going on here. And we both have to deal with it. And we�re back to �Malfoy� now? What happened to �Draco�?�

�I was annoyed. I call you �Malfoy� when I�m annoyed,� she replied, carefully levering herself up into a recumbent position.

�Fair enough, Granger,� he tilted his head in acquiescence. �So, are you alright? Didn�t hurt anything else along your little journey, I hope?�

�Just a little tired, but no, I don�t think I strained anything. Thank you for your concern, though.�

She spied the tiniest smirk on his face; it reminded her a little of the cheeky boy he�d been in third and fourth years. That was almost comforting. �You ran in here with your hair on fire, and I�m sure it wasn�t just because I wasn�t where you expected me to be. What�s up?�

�Oh, yes. You�re right. I wanted to talk to you about something that struck me while I was out� for my, uh, walk. It really could be quite extraordinary. Wait � hair on fire?�

�Muggle expression � forget it. Don�t keep me in suspense. Spill it, Malfoy,� she commanded.

�You may not be so annoyed with me when you hear this, missy.�

�Fine. Draco, with what brilliant thought will you grace me?� she teased.

�I was wandering around in the snow, well, in the forest, and I noticed that there was nothing around. No other buildings, no clearings, no civilization, just nothing. And I thought what a great refuge this was. That got my brain ticking. What if this was meant to be a hideaway, or maybe even a safe-house, Granger? What if my mother sent me, or us, here on purpose?�

�Wow. That sure is one hell of an interesting thought, Draco. If we were at Malfoy Manor, why would she have wanted to send you away? And why would she have sent me along with you?�

�I have no idea what her motivation would have been for either scenario. You�d have to ask her. But you said you�re nearly certain it was my mother?� Draco bent over, untied his wet boots and tugged them off, resolving to set them by the fireplace to dry later. He pivoted on the bed and rested his back against the headboard, crossing his ankles and stretching his legs to their full length.

Hermione quirked one eyebrow at his new position beside her, but decided not to pass comment. �We�ve already established that, yes.�

��So, if you think about how portkeys work, she would have had to know the location. It�s not unlike Apparating. You have to know exactly where you�re going for it to work. They are keyed to a specific address, and can even be pinned to a particular room.�

�Okay, so either she or whoever made the portkey knew about this place. What does that tell us?�

�Hmmm. You have a point about �whoever made the portkey� because if that were the case, she could have activated it without knowing where it would send us. So that sort of puts us back at square one, doesn�t it?�

�Not necessarily. Do you think your mother would send you somewhere if she had no idea where you�d end up?�

�She would if she thought that my staying where I was posed the greater danger.�

�That�s probably true. So let�s assume for argument�s sake that either she or someone she trusts to at least some degree knows where the portkey would send you. We need to think about what other conclusions that could support and what other questions that would raise. I wish I had a parchment and quill to keep track of all of this,� Hermione grumbled.

�Sorry, completely out of parchment, Granger. You�ll have to use that gigantic brain of yours to create mental charts and graphs,� he ribbed.

She rolled her eyes, but held her tongue once again. �Let�s tackle the conclusions first, then deal with the questions. Is that okay with you?�

�Sure. Fire away. What conclusions have you reached?�

�Well, first is that someone knows where we are. Second is that at least one person knew that I�d been, um, injured. Next is that your mother knows that we�re probably together. Another thing we can assume is that someone did intend to use this place as either a safe-house or hideout, because there were supplies here that probably wouldn�t have been if the house were truly abandoned. Any arguments against these yet?�

�No, it all sounds reasonable to me so far,� he agreed.

�Good. We�ve also determined that there�s something going on with your memory. You�re having trouble remembering things you did before a couple of days ago, and you get violent headaches when you make an effort to recall past events. It�s very likely that you�ve been under the influence of either spells or potions or both for an extended period. Yes?�

�Yes. I�d have to agree.�

�But you also don�t have any ideas about who would do that to you and why. And you also have no idea about the source of the, um, contamination.�

�Correct again. Contamination is an interesting word choice, Granger. Any particular reason you view it that way?�

�Yes. I think whatever has been happening to you has been subverting your true nature.�

�Huh. What do you think my true nature is, Granger?� Draco crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to hear what she�d have to say.

�I think that your nature is more kind and tolerant than what you�ve been displaying in the last five years. I think there is probably a reasonably open-minded man under all that hate and violence.�

�How can you be sure of that, Granger?�

�Well, I can�t. But think about it, Draco. What have you been doing for the last thirty-six hours or so?�

�Besides trying to stay warm?�

�Yeah. You�ve been taking care of me. And you�ve been getting upset whenever you recall some event that has you in the center of violence. You�ve been worried about how other people are feeling and reacting to you and your behavior. Are those things that a murderous psychopath would care about?�

�Probably not.�

�Definitely not.�

�Maybe I�ve been trying to lull you into a sense of security to finish you off.�

�That�s ludicrous. If you really wanted to finish me off, you�ve had numerous opportunities to do that, including those �compulsions� you were hearing. You actively rejected those.�

Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and turned away from her. �Well, there was one time that I almost gave in. I put my hand on your throat for a moment. I�m sorry, Granger, but that�s the truth.�

She couldn�t deny feeling a bit unsettled at his confession, but there was no doubt that the fact that he�d trusted both her and himself enough to reveal that misdeed meant that his conscience was pushing him in better directions. Hermione reached out and put her arm on his bicep, tugging him back to face her. �That just proves my point, Draco. You stopped before any damage was done. You made that decision. It wasn�t made for you.�

�Yeah, I suppose that�s true,� he acknowledged. �So, if we�ve decided that I�m not a murderous bastard, at least today, what else do we know?�

�I think that�s all we can be relatively sure of � unless you can think of anything more,� she prompted.

�No, I�m fresh out of certainties for the day. Let�s move on to the questions. What do you have?�

�Well, first is the question of where we really were after our group was captured in the raid. Do you know, Draco? You didn�t say anything when I told you earlier what I thought.�

He pursed his lips with hesitation. �It could very well have been the Manor. The Dark Lord has been using it for years as a base of operations because of the intense security measures that were already in place, and because of the old dungeons. The wards have only been enhanced over the years, so it�s nearly impenetrable,� he answered. �The truth is that I honestly don�t remember specifically being there in the last few days. It�s very likely, because I do still live there when I�m not travelling.�

�For argument�s sake, let�s say that we were there. If your mother had been trying to fake her death, would she have been able to wander around the Manor incognito?�

He shook his head vehemently. �If she was trying to keep it from my father? Absolutely not. The wards will admit blood and by-marriage Malfoys without harm, but if she�d been declared dead, it would have raised alarms if she tried to come onto the property. It would assume that someone was using Polyjuice potion to impersonate her, and she�d have never made it through the front gate, never mind into the Manor itself. On the other hand, if my father knew that her death was a ruse, it would have been incredibly easy for her to move about the property at will. She would have been recognized instantly as a rightful family member and the Lady of the Manor. Everyone else who enters needs to be keyed to the wards by one of the three of us - my role being the Heir of the Manor - or they will be stunned into oblivion. It�s not an easy place to drop in for a visit.�

�Well, how does it allow prisoners to enter then?�

�Prisoners are tagged with a binding spell of sorts � something that was formerly used for servants and day workers � that renders their magic dormant while on the estate unless released for use on the property by the Lord of the Manor. It also allows passage on and around the grounds when accompanied by at least one Malfoy. Since I was apparently with the group that was captured, it would have been my responsibility to tag all of you and then escort everyone into the dungeons. So I guess that means that I must have been there. That question we can now deem answered, I�ll wager.�

�Is that the only way that uninvited guests can get in?� she wondered.

�Technically, no. But that would mean that my father, mother or I would have to drop the wards to a minimum security level. I�m not aware of any time that has happened other than when my parents have hosted galas. That hasn�t happened since before the war began. Even then, people are checked against a guest list as they request entry either by Floo or at the external Apparation point that is typically arranged just for that evening.�

�That tells us that if your mother is indeed alive, it is almost certain that your father knows and was involved in staging her death. The other question is, why would they want you � and everyone else � to believe that she�d died?�

�Protection of some sort? Can�t say for sure, but that seems most likely,� Draco offered.

�From whom or what?� Hermione challenged.

�Well, as we�ve already discussed, my mother�s sympathies are not as tied to the Dark Lord�s as some other purebloods. Maybe she�d angered him and my father was trying to shield her,� he postulated.

�Even with your father being Voldemort�s right hand man?� she accused.

�My father�s position within the Dark Lord�s inner circle is not always secure. He has fallen out of favor now and again.�

�And how does that affect your own position?�

�I don�t know. I�m feeling very Swiss-cheesy about that. If the vague memories I do have are correct, I don�t spend much time with my father or with the Dark Lord. I get orders and do what I�m told. I think they use me as a killing machine,� he spoke quietly, averting his eyes from her shocked stare.

�S, s, so you weren�t using hyperbole when you said you had so much blood on your hands?� she stuttered out.

�I wish I were, but no. I wasn�t exaggerating,� he admitted, dropping his gaze to the hands he�d clasped at his waist. �I don�t remember a lot of details, but I remember the face of each person that I�ve killed. I�ve lost count, there have been so many. The first was Severus Snape.�

Hermione gasped. She�d heard rumors that Draco had been responsible for the Potions Master�s demise, but had never heard any eyewitness accounts so she�d taken it as lore. This was an outright confession. �How? Why? I thought he was your favorite teacher,� she probed.

�The Dark Lord strongly suspected that he had turned away from him and switched allegiances to Dumbledore. When Snape refused to kill the old man, I was ordered to kill Snape for his failure. That, I remember. Don�t know why, but it is burned into my brain. It was one of my first loyalty tests, and a failure to deliver would have been a death sentence for me and my whole family. I ambushed him several months after Hogwarts closed,� he stated, speaking barely loud enough for her to hear. Tension began to build behind his eyes, and he feared that this exercise in recall would now trigger another blinding headache. �Can we not talk about this right now? You know what happens when I try to dig up old memories. Please.�

�Yeah, sure. But we�ve been talking about past events quite a lot for the last hour and you haven�t had one of those episodes yet. Any idea why?�

�I think it may be that you are the one telling the story. When I dig around in my brain seems to be the impetus. Just hearing you talk about something doesn�t seem to affect me the same way.�

�You know, something just occurred to me. We�ve been isolated for the last couple of days. You�ve undoubtedly been away from whatever influence has been affecting you. Maybe some of the side-effects or compulsions are starting to wear off. What have you not been exposed to in the last couple of days that you typically would be?� she asked.

�Uh, how about everything?� he snipped.

�You have a point there,� she acknowledged.

�And honestly, Granger, if I�ve been under some kind of spell or potion influence for five years, do you really think it would wear off in two days? Not likely.�

�So why do you think your, uh, thinking has changed so much in that same short time?�

�Huh. You have a point there,� he agreed.

�There�s got to be a trigger point. Someone knows something about it. We just have to figure out whom. And my guess is that whoever sent us here is a good place to start.�
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Covered in Crimson